Ghosts
by Ruralstar
Summary: The ghosts of Owen's past are never far from the present.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy is the property of ABC television, Shondra Rhimes and Co. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: This story was conceived and begun before episode 5x14 "Beat Your Heart Out" aired. It is an AU take on Owen's relationships with Beth and Michael Whitman and his personal family history.

Ghosts: Chapter One

Owen studied the smattering of coffee grounds in the bottom of his cup. Ten minutes. Ten long minutes and Beth had not said a word. She had been crying intermittently since he discovered her outside of her father's hospital room. Not a big display, just a steady gathering of tears which occasionally spilled over to trace silvery trails down her cheeks. He did not know what possessed him to take her out for coffee. Their personal interactions should have ended with a dutiful embrace, an expression of sympathy from one old friend to another. He winced. Not _friends_. Ex-lovers with no common threads left save the man in the bed beyond the door. He should have heeded the instinctive urge to flee, but self-disciplinewon out over self-preservation. Without making a conscious choice he became the soldier, the savior, the gentleman his mother would have wanted. Now they were sitting in a coffee shop two streets over from the hospital. Beth's gaze was level and unrelenting on his cheek. The chaotic emotions forced to the surface by her return cast a pall of intimacy he no longer felt for her. Shoving the cup aside, Owen forced himself to look up and meet her eyes.

"How could you break things off like that and never call? Not one word in five years?"

Her abrupt question was typical. Beth had always been a contradiction: a bright, shiny penny of a woman with an infectious smile and the pure look of peaches and honey gold hair. Beneath lay a will Owen still admired in part because it was so unexpected. That layer of iron kept her eyes from dropping to the table between them. Owen shook his head, knowing she would never be satisfied with his words but compelled to try one more time to explain. "I told you why."

"You wrote an email. Who does that?"

"And if I had gone to your apartment?" Owen bit back a curse as familiar frustration welled up. "You knew I was going to enlist. I never made a secret of my intentions after Residency."

"And to hell with what I wanted?"

Owen's thoughts strayed to her father lying in an ICU bed at Seattle Grace. Now was not the time and yet here she sat demanding words he did not want to say. "I'm a doctor, Beth. It's the one thing I've always been good at. My choice was…my choice. It wasn't about you."

"You've always been a selfish bastard," she retorted, swiping a hand across her damp cheeks. "Heartless."

It would be easier if she truly lost her temper, Owen reflected as he signaled the waitress for a refill. Pounded her fists against his chest, screamed and made a scene. That was not Beth's way. In her own fashion she was just as closed off as he had become since the ambush. Not unlike Cristina Yang… He swallowed hard and took a hasty sip of coffee, welcoming the scald of the liquid down his throat.

"He asked about you all the time."

"Excuse me?"

"He asked about you. Where you were and why you never called him." Beth's blue eyes turned flint gray as indignation flattened her voice. "He loved you like a son and you couldn't even be bothered to write him a letter."

Owen sat back and looked out the window to the street. Collateral damage was the term the Armed Forces used when discussing civilian casualties. Concise, technical, and completely inadequate to describe the sense of abandonment Beth's father must have felt. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Ten years. You were there when Mom died. You knew and yet you could just run off and join the Army like his friendship—his love—didn't mean anything."

"It wasn't like that," he snapped. "I don't run away. I never have."

"Oh please." Beth took a drink from her water glass and set it down hard, leaving a puddle around the base. "We supported you when there was no one else. Dad was there after your own father walked out the door and left you and your sister without a damn dime. You don't repay that kind of friendship with a few lines of text written half a world away!"

Her voice was rising for the first time. Owen felt mildly pleased with himself. Maybe he was the heartless bastard Beth claimed. If not then, certainly now. He opened his mouth not sure what might come out. Beth saved him the trouble.

"When dad got sick he told me he wanted to see you. It didn't matter that you were not an oncologist. He insisted. So I tracked you down. You sure as hell didn't make it easy."

"I didn't want to be found." Owen sipped his coffee and continued to stare out the window. She had played the guilt card, knowing it would hurt. He would not give her the satisfaction of triumph or the ease of pity by meeting her eyes.

"He's going to die, isn't he?"

"I haven't consulted with the doctor assigned to his case…"

"Dammit Owen, tell me the truth!"

He looked at her, one eyebrow cocked in surprise."The truth? I don't lie when it comes to medicine. I don't know anything for certain Beth. I would tell you if I did."

"So it's okay to lie when we're not talking about medicine?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

"Do I?" She laughed shortly and took another drink from the water glass. "Do I really?"

Owen watched with growing unease as she reached into her purse and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She crumpled it into a ball and tossed it onto the table. "Do you even remember what you said to me?"

He did not touch the paper as it slowly unfolded like a smashed flower.

"Ten years was not a lie? Your last words were not a lie?"

A surge of anger sang across Owen's raw nerves. He sat up and met her demanding stare with equal intensity, a small part of him reveling in the way Beth's body pressed back into the seat cushions. "What do you want me to say? That I lied to protect you? That I told you what you wanted to hear, especially during my last year of Residency?"

"You told me you loved me, that you wanted a future."

Owen clutched the coffee cup. The hot liquid quivered and sloshed over the sides and onto his hands. He did not flinch. "I told you that we would have time. That I had to serve my country because I couldn't just stand by and watch good men die without acting. You wanted more and you wanted it immediately."

"I…"

Owen shook his head, hating the harsh words that tumbled out and the way her face collapsed. "You were ambitious. You wanted to be a doctor's wife, period. Two kids and a white picket fence with twin SUVs in the driveway. I could have…" He fell abruptly silent, unwilling to speak of the dark line that so sharply divided his world into the Before and After.

Fresh tears stood in Beth's eyes but did not fall. She breathed deeply as her hands rose to rest on the table. Pink tinted nails dug at the glass, fingers pulling into small, loose fists. The walls fell back into place and her next words were spoken in a monotone. "We followed you across the country because you made me believe that there was a future. Then you decided otherwise. You had no right to make him a part of what happened to us."

"And you wouldn't have?" he challenged icily.

"No."

The single word deflated Owen's anger. He was too tired to debate the truth of her reply and contented himself with mopping the spilled coffee from the table and his hands with a napkin.

"You said you were sorry," Beth whispered. "You should tell him that before…it's too late."

A gout of warm air bathed Owen's calves from the vent in the wall. He shivered, overwhelmed at the prospect of facing Mike. He had not lied. There was no way to say for certain if her father was going to die today or tomorrow or six months down the line. He had his suspicions however, and she knew it. It would not take more than a phone call or a five minute consult with a fellow physician to confirm what Beth sensed instinctively. _ How soon before it was too late to make amends?_

"You don't know how to apologize to him, do you?"

In the Before there were words and the ability to be gentle no matter how hard the situation might be. Owen had always regretted not speaking to Mike given their history. He stayed away knowing that Beth would be a part of any relationship he might cultivate. They were as close as any parent and child could be. It was not fair to cut out the older man simply to avoid her, however. And Owen had never imagined a time when he would not be able to explain his absence. Now there was so much he needed to say and more he needed to hear. Beth's father was a Vietnam veteran. He would understand the darkness clouding Owen's soul. Each day it was getting harder to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Cristina seemed willing but she could never truly understand. Owen suppressed a sigh, unnerved by the cold knot twisting in his guts. _"Sometimes words fail." _He shook his head and glanced up, not surprised at the ironic smile that rested on Beth's lips.

"I'll give you a piece of advice. Don't send an email. Dad doesn't use a laptop." Beth threw two dollars on the table and slipped out of the booth and into the milling lunch crowd without looking back.

~*~*~

Cristina had seen Owen embrace the daughter of the patient in room 512. It was an awkward moment, his eyes darting restlessly around the nearly empty hallway before alighting on her at the far end. There was something dark and deeply troubled in his gaze. This was not passion on display, rather something much more complex. She nodded once, acknowledging the promised explanation before continuing on her rounds. Two hours passed before she saw the woman again. This time entering the hospital lobby where Cristina had stopped to speak to Lexie. Her steps were purposeful, her pale face set in hard lines. The dark blue eyes swept over the room blazing a stinging trail across Cristina's cheeks as they scanned. After a moment's pause, she crossed to the elevator and entered an empty car. Cristina sighed with relief as the doors slid closed.

Moments later, she spotted Owen entering the big glass doors over Lexie's shoulder. Dismissing the Intern with a hasty nod and growl, Cristina watched him cross the lobby. Owen usually walked with confidence and the erect posture of a career soldier. He was professional and unfailingly polite to the people he encountered. This man walked with hunched shoulders, his eyes carefully focused on the floor. He nearly collided with an orderly and barely spoke a word of apology when he walked away. The skin on the back of Cristina's neck prickled with concern.

They were not dating, at least not officially. She had promised to give him another chance even though the incident in the shower had left her overwhelmed by the enormity of his personal problems. Clearly the blond woman was another ghost from the past that she would have to contend with. Cristina dare not ask how many more there might be even in the privacy of thought. She had her share of skeletons and was not looking forward to showing them off any time soon.

Owen stopped in the mouth of the hallway that led to the trauma center. He looked up for the first time and Cristina began walking. Several seconds passed before he spotted her. The tiniest of lights flickered in his eyes and was gone in a heartbeat. If anything, he seemed more tense the closer she got. Cristina drew a steadying breath and stopped close enough to smell the rain in his hair. She dare not touch him. Held still not only by the people passing by but by the glassy stare he pinned her with. That same distant look that accompanied his revelations in the shower. She sighed and indicated a different direction with her chin. "Come on."

He hesitated but Cristina stood her ground. Whatever had passed between Owen and this mysterious blond had awakened the demons. There was only one place she could think of that might silence them. She waited until he nodded fractionally and followed her.

They could have walked there with their eyes closed. Owen had been going to the vent for months. She had visited at least a half dozen times since the night of Alex Karev's solo surgery. It was their space, undeclared but mutually agreed upon. He held the door as she stepped through into the warm, damp room. The machinery throbbed around them as it cycled. Seattle Grace breathed in great smooth gasps, its bones vibrating with the steady beat of her heart. Safe within the cocoon of concrete and steel mesh, Cristina reached for Owen's hand and waited patiently for him to step onto the vent with her.

Owen would not meet her eyes as the air rushed up their pant legs. Cristina shivered and took his other hand. Gently she urged him closer until she could slip her hands around his waist and rest them on the small of his back. The first time on the vent had been a shared release of the passions they had both clearly considered but never given into. This was something entirely different. Nearly lost within the roar of the air was the sound of Owen's quickening breath. His chest heaved and his fingers clenched, grazing Cristina's back and shoulders. Then his arms enfolded her, holding fiercely tight and still as her hair danced all around them. Cristina felt the tremor travel up his body. It grew as the seconds passed until her bones ached with the force of it. She held on, lightly stroking his back, saying nothing as he shook and gasped harshly into her hair. They swayed back and forth in the funnel of air until the cycle completed and their clothes hung limp once more.

Owen stepped back and cradled her cheeks in his hands. His eyes were unreadable mirrors as he bent and trailed feather kisses over Cristina's eyelids and temples. His fingers threaded her hair and she stretched up to kiss his mouth, tasting coffee and salt. He deepened and lengthened the kiss, his hands cupping the back of her head and straying down to her shoulders and eventually her waist. The next blast of air lifted her hair into a dark swirling cloud. Cristina heard his chuckle low and deep and felt the gentle nip of his teeth on her earlobe. His lips were warm, the brush of his beard lightly abrasive at the juncture between neck and shoulder. She smiled and rested her head against his broad chest. Finding comfort in the steady beat of his heart and willing him to speak when the memories grew quiet.

**To be continued….**


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy is the property of ABC television, Shondra Rhimes and Co. No copyright infringement is intended.

Ghosts: Chapter two

Cristina put her glass of beer on the coaster in the center of the table and sat back. It was only 7:30. Joe's was nearly empty and they would have been conspicuous if not for the low light in their corner of the room. It was not unusual to drop by this early on the way home from a long shift. Swap stories with fellow Residents over a beer or a plate of pretzels before going home to crash. Tonight was different. Even the bartender was unable to completely hide his curiosity at the Coke she ordered along with the Guinness. Cristina gestured towards the table and Owen's shadowed form. Politely acknowledging and dismissing the query without a word.

Ten minutes later the soda sat untouched. Back on the vent, Owen had merely nodded assent to her drink invitation. He had not spoken to her, except to decline his customary Scotch, since mid-afternoon. He sat across from her, hisunfocused gaze directed to the wall of liquor bottles behind the bar. His back was straight and his jaw clenched periodically, clear indications that the tensions released in the halo of steam were back full force.

Cristina fiddled with the soft leather tab attached to her house keys. She was not fond of waiting. Owen had promised an explanation when he silently stared over the shoulder of the blond woman in his arms. Later reaffirming his desire to talk by allowing her to experience just how disturbed he was down on the vent. Cristina owed him a willing ear—for her sake as much as his.. Was this woman that last fateful date five years ago? Had Owen lied in an effort to explain away his drunken state? Was she still a part of the picture when he came home on leave and kissed her? Cristina cringed inwardly. _I can't go down this path again. Can't pretend to be someone I'm not no matter how much he needs me to…._ She shifted in her seat and looked up, barely suppressing a squeak of surprise as his intense blue eyes met hers.

"This isn't about…Iraq, is it?" she ventured quietly.

"No."

Cristina bit back a guilty sigh. She had told Owen that it was okay _not_ to talk about it. 'It' being a conglomeration of memories dredged up by an innocent, ridiculous question. Once stirred, the demon drove his torn psyche into the deepest, darkest corner of his mind and turned his eyes to vacant pools. She had never seen anything quite so visceral and she was in no great hurry to see it again. This was not 'it', but it clearly carried a similar weight. Cristina reached for her beer and took a bracing swallow. She held his gaze, suffusing the link with as much strength as she could spare. "Do you want to talk about her?"

"No."

"Okay…"

"No, not okay," he corrected in a voice pitched so low she had to strain to hear him. "I just…Cris, I don't know how to start."

Cristina quirked her lips at the shortened moniker. No one ever called her Cris. It was too informal for her mother, too personal even for Meredith. Hearing it from Owen was a surprise and yet somehow appropriate. She nodded encouragement.

The fingers of Owen's right hand tapped an uneven staccato on the table. Words dropped down in between the beats as his eyes darted nervously around the room. "Beth and I…We met during my first year of college. I wasn't even sure I wanted to be a doctor back then. Seemed like a good way to help support the family. Dad was a widower…money was always tight. We dated off and on…Nothing serious and then…" Owen swallowed audibly. "Then dad left and my sister….she was only a sophomore in high school. We lost the house…no place to go…" His left hand played with the change in his pocket, the coins clinking loudly in the quiet. Owen concentrated on a spot between his feet. "Mike, Beth's dad, took us in. Told me not to work, to study… Gave me a chance to work it out…"

Cristina nodded again, the picture in her mind coalescing as he stumbled on.

"Beth and I…It wasn't serious and then it was. I thought…I thought this was how it was supposed to be." Owen looked up, briefly meeting her eyes. "No one ever asked me what I wanted. I never asked myself until I was preparing to start my Internship." He looked away. "Do you remember the night we bombed Baghdad? The beginning of the first Gulf War?"

"Yes." The memory was a vivid one. The green tinted images of bombs exploding through night vision scopes were burned indelibly into Cristina's mind. The trauma of the innocents dying within those blasts struck a nerve, reaffirming the decision first made when she was nine years old and pinned into the wreck of her father's car. Cristina shook herself back to the present, not surprised to find Owen watching her face closely.

"I was watching something on the History channel one night and they replayed those first images. And I knew…" Owen sighed and picked up his glass. "I knew that I had to go over there and do something." He drained the soda and pushed the empty glass to the middle of the table. "I tried to tell her. Tried for years after that night."

Cristina studied the swirl of condensation left on the table top by the cold glass. She carefully shielded her relief about Beth. Jealousy was petty, juvenile, miles beneath her. Still, she could not pretend that the thought of him screwing around on another woman was not a concern. _Once, why not twice? What makes me immune?_

"She was the last one. Five years ago I mean."

"Okay," she murmured, irritated that he was so intuitive.

"I wanted a change of scenery so I applied for a Residency program out here. Beth and her father were my whole family by then. My sister…" A rueful smile curled his lips. "She was married and had a baby… So I left and Beth followed me."

Moving across the continent was a big step. Cristina grudgingly admired Beth's choice. To some it might smack of desperation to follow a man. To others it was loyalty and support. Cristina was all about the latter emotions. She would have done the same for Burke if he had only asked. Though she suspected that Beth and the Owen Hunt of the past were far healthier emotionally than she had been.

She looked up to find Owen still studying her face. _He's waiting?_ A bubble of inappropriate laughter hovered at the back of her throat. Cristina coughed to cover it. _Waiting for what? Approval, anger, sadness, disappointment? _She shoved the house keys into her pocket. It had been a long time since anyone cared to ask her opinion. Anyone besides Meredith, who frequently seemed to be looking for affirmation in lieu of honest criticism.

"Cristina…"

"Owen…" She stopped. Taken aback that his name had come so naturally after months of considering when or how she might use it for the first time. Owen smiled faintly, giving her the courage to complete her thought. "What happened earlier…on the vent…It's about more than her, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"You haven't spoken to either of them in five years?"

"No."

"It ended?"

"Badly."

They were back to one word answers. Owen's tone indicated that he would not tell her the details even if pressed. Cristina's mouth was suddenly as dry as the sand pit he loathed. _How did Owen Hunt let a girl down? _

"I should have written or called. Jesus, how could I do that to him?"

"You had a lot on your mind."

Owen groaned beneath his breath. "Selfish bastard."

"What?"

"That's what Beth called me earlier."

Cristina shrugged. "Maybe."

He blinked. ""Excuse me?"

"If the shoe fits…"

"Cris, I…"

"Why didn't you call the guy if he meant so much to you?" Cristina was surprised by the outrage thickening her voice. "You don't just use people for your own purposes and walk away. Whatever else I've learned about you in the last three months, I thought you were a better man than that."

"Where is this coming from?"

His confusion stopped Cristina cold. The faint rattle of old bones sounded in the recesses of her mind. Skeletons shaken lose to blunder into a conversation she would rather not have. "Just forget it."

"I can't picture anyone using you and walking away unscathed," Owen observed.

"You don't know me."

"You're right, I don't."

Cristina cleared her throat and forced the images of Preston Burke back behind the cobwebs. "Why?" she demanded.

"Because I'm a selfish, heartless bastard."

"Bullshit."

Surprise gave way to laughter as Owen shook his head.

Cristina grinned. "You always laugh when someone swears at you?"

"Not usually."

The moment slid away and a cold weight settled back into the pit of Cristina's stomach as he sobered.

"I couldn't deal with her. Couldn't give her what she wanted and still do what I thought was right."

"So you walked out the door and never looked back?"

"I looked."

"You ran."

A shadow passed across Owen's features, twin sparks of anger igniting like embers in his darkening eyes. "I don't run."

Cristina threw up her hands. Justified or not she was frustrated and damned if she would back down. "Two days ago you asked me for another chance. I said yes. I'm not sticking around unless you can start being honest with yourself." She pushed back the chair and started to stand. His hand moved faster than she ever thought possible. Fingers like steel gripped her wrist. Cristina stilled instantly. She could not break free, nor did she wish to cause a scene in the bar. A tendril of fear curled around her chest and squeezed. She dragged her gaze up from his white fingers to meet his eyes.

Contact broke the spell. He released her with a jerk and turned away.

Cristina sat down heavily on the chair and pushed a hand through her hair. "Look, I'm sorry. I don't want to be jerked around..."

"Don't."

"What? I'm just saying…"

"For God sakes don't apologize for me. I'm the one who's fucked up here. You said so yourself and you were right." He sighed heavily, still looking towards the far wall. "I walked…ran away from the one man who gave a shit about me and my family when no one else did. It was easier…" He violently shook his head and fell silent.

Here lay the crux with a dozen layers of moldy peel wrapped around it. Cristina itched to pull back those layers and expose the wounds he so carefully sheltered to the cleansing air. Three days ago she had stood in her bathroom and watched Owen crumble to the floor piece by piece. Two days ago she resolved to take a chance that he was fundamentally different from Burke and therefore worth the risk. What else had to happen before he could take that first cautious step off the ledge and accept the help he needed? Let her—and the world—in?

Cristina eased around the back of the table to stand behind Owen. He shivered at the touch of her hands on his shoulders. She pressed more firmly, kneading slow circles through the layers of cloth. The sounds of the gradually filling bar ebbed and flowed around them. Cristina blocked them out and concentrated all her energy into her fingers. Seconds stretched to minutes. Her hands began to ache. She continued without pause until Owen's right hand crept up and encircled hers. He tugged gently and stood up, not letting go until she slipped around in front of him.

"I keep screwing this up," he muttered sheepishly.

Cristina reached up and cupped his cheek, liking the soft spring of his beard as he leaned against her hand. "Go and talk to him," she counseled. _Talk to him, to someone…please_.

"I'm sorry. I know I scared the hell out of you a minute ago. I never… I would never…"

She nodded, accepting the apology and letting her earlier fear dissolve. He turned his head and kissed her palm. His hands slid across her shoulders and under the thick black curls to caress her neck. Cristina jumped and smiled self-consciously. Owen grinned and bent closer. Her hand moved from his cheek to the soft strands of hair curling against his nape as their lips met. A chaste kiss, lingering and sweet, his mustache prickling her upper lip as his roaming fingers slipped down to cradle both shoulders.

Cristina sighed when he pulled back. _Two steps forward, one step back…_ She caught the mischievous glint in his eyes and resisted the urge to punch him in the arm. Her hand would likely come out the worse for it, satisfaction notwithstanding. Her frustration was obvious apparently. The hint of a genuine smile played on his lips and she rolled her eyes. Irritated but grateful as the expression solidified and Owen laughed softly into his chest.

"Come on." She started for the door.

"Where?"

Cristina gestured over her shoulder and did not look to see if he would follow.

She waited outside in the cold February drizzle for several long moments. Wondering if she had made a mistake before the squeak of the door and a warm blast of air proved otherwise.

"I should go home," Owen muttered as they started to walk.

Cristina ignored the comment. She was cold and tired and damn sure she was not going to let him go home in such a volatile state. They walked in silence to the intersection and down three blocks. The looming bulk of Seattle Grace appeared around the next corner and she felt rather than heard Owen stop behind her.

"I'm not going to your apartment, Cristina."

In a night full of hurdles, she never dreamed that this final jump would be the hardest. "You afraid I'll jump your ass?" she needled as she turned to face him. "I think you're safe. Callie is off and she's a light sleeper."

Owen grimaced. "It's been a long night for both of us. I just don't think…"

"You're right, don't think," she interrupted flatly. "I'm not asking anything from you. I'm giving you a place to crash, that's all. I…I don't think you should be alone tonight." She walked back and took his hand. "It's okay or I wouldn't still be standing here." Something indescribable shadowed his gaze. She fought down an uneasy tremor and stretched up to kiss him lightly on the cheek. "Come on, it's cold out here."

He resisted a moment longer then followed without a word.

**To be continued… **


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy is the property of ABC Television. Shondra Rhimes and Co. No copyright infringement is intended.

Ghosts: Chapter Three

Owen awoke gradually to the touch of warm sunlight on his cheek. He had slept better and longer than he could recall in recent memory. He cracked an eyelid, taking in the vaguely familiar greens and beiges of Cristina's bedroom. The details were infinitely clearer without the throb of a hangover or the haze of exhaustion to obscure them.

"I've got an early shift," Cristina mumbled as she breezed into the room.

"Morning."

"Huh? Oh, morning."

Owen snorted a laugh. "Coffee?"

"I don't think there is any. Unless Callie has some stashed in the cupboard above the sink."

"Oh."

Cristina sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers nimbly pinning her thick hair. "You slept?" she asked without looking at him.

"Yeah."

"Good." She bent down and began pulling on her shoes.

They had not had a chance to discuss the nightmares. Owen could not recall having one after the incident in the shower. Unfortunately, lack of recollection did not guarantee a quiet night. He frequently awoke in a tangle of sweat-soaked sheets with no idea of what specific memory had erupted. An uneasy tremor shimmied down his spine as he watched Cristina tie her laces. He cleared his throat and hesitantly touched her shoulder. "Thanks."

Cristina sat up. Her brown eyes were pale and dew soft in the watery morning light. "You're not working today, right?"

Owen shook his head.

"Then you can go and talk to Mike."

He could feel the color draining from his face. A shadow of concern darkened Cristina's eyes as he drew a steadying breath. "Yeah, yeah I should."

"Okay?"

"Okay," he whispered, letting his fingers trail down her arm to her cupped palm as she stood up.

"Come find me afterwards."

"I will."

"Good."

~*~*~

The anxious knot in the pit of Owen's stomach grew larger on the drive back to his apartment to shower and change. Beth would undoubtedly be at her father's side. He expected no less. Rampant speculation about what she might have told the old man about their conversation made him too nauseous to even consider breakfast. He drove back across town to the hospital without conscious memory of the journey. Deciding to bypass any familiar faces in the lobby or trauma center, he took the elevator directly to the fifth floor. The lights of the hallway were blinding after the dim parking garage. He blinked rapidly to clear the sting and stepped out. The elevator doors clicked shut and the low rumble of the moving cables sent a jolt of apprehension clear down to his toes. Owen squared his shoulders and started walking purposefully towards room 512. He hoped for just one more minute to organize his jumbled thoughts. Beth's sudden emergence from the room drew him up short.

Her eyes raked him from sole to hairline. "I'm surprised to see you."

Owen forced his feet into motion and closed the distance between them in three quick strides. "Is he in there?"

"Just back from radiology."

"I would like to speak to him."

"Oh?"

"Alone."

"Really?"

Owen muttered a curse and folded his arms. "Let's not do this. Not here."

"Not anywhere," she bit back, mimicking his posture. "He asked me if I saw you last night."

"And?" he prompted warily.

"Did you think I'd cover for you?"

"What did you tell him, Beth?"

"The truth."

Owen clenched the fabric covering his elbows. _The Truth_ could mean any number of things.

"You've changed, Owen. You're colder."

"Cold, selfish, heartless," he reiterated, catching and holding her sharp gaze. "Anything else?"

"Give me a minute."

"I don't have one."

Owen stepped into the room alone and froze. After nearly fifteen years of medical training, field work and teaching, he was on intimate terms with the tools of his trade. To see those devices hooked up to a person so familiar and yet unrecognizable tore the breath from his throat. He coughed to draw air. The yellowed, swollen body on the bed did not flinch at the sound. Bile flooded the back of Owen's throat. He cupped a hand over his mouth, willing his stomach to settle and his breathing to slow. The uneven clicks and whirs of the machinery filled his pounding skull with its disconsolate buzz. He could not look away from the too slow rise and fall of the patient's chest. The twitch of one white hand against the beige blankets was startling. Owen blinked and licked his lips. The movement came again and Mike turned his head slightly to the side. Somewhere in Owen's head a voice began to scream, demanding that he run even as he was dragged inexorably closer to the bed. Mike's eyes opened to slits. Brown orbs met blue and Owen tumbled down into a jagged chasm of confusion and pain. The world spun and he put a hand on the raised bed rail to keep his balance. The screaming intensified, deafening Owen to all but the increased beat of the heart monitor mounted to his right. He could feel his pulse racing in time as fresh sweat trickled down his back.

Mike blinked again, stronger this time. The brown eyes widened in evident recognition and he drew a deep breath that rattled his chest when he exhaled. His hand shifted on the blankets and one finger rose to point in Owen's direction. Pale lips pulled back in a vague approximation of a smile.

"Oh… Jesus." Owen whispered. "Mike…oh God."

The finger crooked, beckoning Owen closer.

Owen's hands were shaking and his skin felt unbearably cold and clammy. Time loomed like a glass wall between them: high, wide, and as solid as the floor beneath his feet.

The finger moved again.

Owen reached to take Mike's hand. The skin was paper thin, the bones like bird's wings in his grasp. He held it gently and tried to meet the older man's eyes. Brittle fingers grazed his palm and the smile grew more pronounced.

"Owen."

The name was barely a whisper. A shudder rippled the length of Owen's body and he fought down a sob of relief.

"It's…s'okay…son."

_No, it's not…Oh Jesus, I'm sorry…_ The words slammed against Owen's teeth. He shook his head and laid his free hand on Mike's shoulder.

"Look…." A rattling cough interrupted him. Owen watched the monitors and held his breath until the fit subsided.

Mike's fingers curled into a fist and pressed into Owen's palm.

The monitor beeped insistently. Time ticking down and propelling Mike towards a void Owen was all too familiar with. The screaming reached a crescendo and died away when he met the older man's eyes.

"S'okay…understand?"

_What? What are you absolving me of?_ _Of guilt for leaving without a word of explanation? For staying away out of cowardice? For…surviving…when so many others didn't?_

"Understand?" Mike rasped.

Owen smiled shakily and blinked to quell the burn of unshed tears. Too many questions. Too late to ask or grant anything more than peace. "I understand, Mike."

The older man nodded and closed his eyes.

Owen bowed his head and took several deep breaths, pushing the fresh grief into the far corner of his mind. The vault was filled to bursting but here was not the place to open the door. His expression was impassive when he looked up to study the monitors once more. Satisfied that Mike was stable for the moment, Owen smoothed the blankets across his chest and walked out of the room.

~*~*~

He intended to leave. The last three days had been a whirlwind of conflicting emotions neither he nor Cristina had been prepared for. Another night of confession, or awkward silence, might well spell the end of whatever they were trying to start. Later, tomorrow, whenever he could breathe normally without wanting to hit the closest wall would be soon enough.

Cristina got on the elevator when it stopped on the second floor.

"You were going home, weren't you?"

The laughter clawing up his throat was tinged with hysteria. Owen stuffed it back down and nodded.

"I told you to find me."

"I didn't want to."

Cristina groaned. "Screw what you didn't want. This couldn't have been easy. When are you going to get it?"

The elevator doors popped open admitting a draught of cold air from the garage. Cristina followed him out but stopped them both with a hand on his arm. "Hey, wait a minute."

"I can't deal with this right now, just leave me alone." Owen spun away and started walking rapidly down the sidewalk that ran around the outside of the parking garage. He had to shield her from the furies bubbling beneath the surface. Hot and cold, numb and violently sensate, the room spun with the force of emotions battering at the door of the vault in his head.

Her hand was suddenly on his arm again. A sharp tug and Owen was back in the alley outside of Joe's bar. Instinctively spinning around with a raised hand and staring in stunned silence. Time slowed down and the world narrowed to her expressive features gone pale with concern. Echoes of then seeped out in a feral hiss. "I don't need…"

Cristina tightened her grip.

"Leave me alone!" Owen grabbed both of her wrists and shoved her back against the wall. The force of the impact shot tendrils of prickly heat the length of his arms. Spots of crimson and gold flecked his vision and the vast room echoed with her soft cry of surprise. The bones of her wrists felt small and close to the skin in his tightening grip. Cristina's eyes widened and her body grew limp as he shook her hard.

"Owen." His name sounded far away, faint as a summer wind. "Owen, stop." A plea, a command, a question fell down from her red lips.

Owen gasped and stared slack jawed at his hands. _No…No, I didn't…I couldn't…_He released her and stumbled back towards the curb. Cristina caught his forearms, her small hands slipping easily beneath his coat cuffs. Her touch suffused his skin with tender heat. The strength drained from his quivering limbs. Words tasting of ashes lay flat on his tongue.

Cristina steadied him for a moment and then reached up to cradle his face between her palms. Brown eyes met blue and held fast. "You_ need_ help," she asserted. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Yes…" Owen choked on the affirmation and felt the hysteria creeping back as the next words tumbled out. "Yes, there is. I could hurt you…I can't do this to you…to myself… I can't..."

"I know."

The cracks were spreading through Owen's chest and up into his throat. The flow of air throttled to a faint trickle that left him dizzy. The vault would fly apart if she moved. He felt disembodied. Her scent, her touch and the clothes she wore, naught but memory as he stumbled through the dark.

"It's okay."

Owen shivered violently and squeezed his eyes shut. A cacophony of images rippled through the ether. People long dead and freshly buried. Places he loved and places he abhorred: sometimes one in the same. Details blended in hyper hues that seared his weary brain.

"It's okay."

_No, it wasn't. Might never be again._ He sighed and heard the sob before he felt the hot tears leak from the corners of his eyes. _No…not here with her…_. But they fell heedless of his plea. Sliding down into the spaces between her fingers and into the hollows under her palms. Owen gasped and his knees gave way. Together they sank to the edge of the curb. Her right hand slid down and pinned his hands close to his chest. Her left arm settled across his shoulders.

"Just breathe…It's okay… I'm not going anywhere…"

Her voice, like the numbing cold of the cement beneath them, barely registered in Owen's mind. He was back in the sand amongst the broken, bloody bodies of his comrades. Their mouths were contorted in final agony, their eyes wide open and staring. Pledges and prayers unfulfilled were etched indelibly in those glazed orbs gone dark. He could hear their questions and feel their ire. _Why me and not them? How could I walk away and leave their souls moldering in foreign soil? Doom them all to walk my nightmares in a futile bid for rest?_ Their lives had been torn asunder and left to drift like the tatters of smoke that rose above the ambush site. He could never run fast enough or far enough. Always they were there, a gathering of ghosts as grey and featureless as the sand whipping through them. He dare not stop to look but he was too tired to take another step.

"Oh Jesus…Cris…I can't…"

"Owen, come back. Stay right here with me. Stay here."

"I left him…left them...alone!" The tears flowed in earnest. Waves of grief snatched Owen's breath away and razed a fiery trail down his throat. The coppery scent of blood and the tang of ashes tainted the air and coated his tongue. "I should have died…Cristina, why didn't I die..? They had families…children…parents…I shou…shouldn't be here without them…"

Cool fingers stroked his cheek and Owen leaned into the sensation. Gasping and coughing on the fountain of anguish spilling out of him.

"You're right where you need to be, Owen Hunt," she whispered. "We'll figure it out together."

**To be continued...**


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy is the property of ABC television, Shondra Rhimes and Co. No copyright infringement is intended.

Ghosts: Chapter Four

Cristina sat on the chair at the end of her bed, a book lying face down on her lap. Reading was proving to be a pointless exercise. Owen lay amidst the tangle of blankets in front of her. He was too close for her to concentrate and too vulnerable to ignore, even in his current state of exhaustion. Sighing softly, she stood and left the book on the chair. The apartment was dead quiet. Not even Callie's habitual snores penetrated the stillness as Cristina navigated her way to the kitchen in the dark. She pulled a bottle of water from the fridge, thought better and grabbed two. On the way back through the living room she bumped her hip against a bookshelf and swore vehemently. Once inside the relative safety of the lamp-lit bedroom, she pressed one cold bottle against the fresh bruise and reached for the book.

"Cris?"

She dropped both bottles and spun around to find Owen sitting against the headboard. One knee was drawn up and his elbow rested on it. "You were asleep. I'm sorry I woke you," she managed when the shock had passed.

"No, no you didn't." He scrubbed a hand through his hair and across the back of his neck. "Sorry I scared you."

"Yeah, well, it's late."

"And you're reading?"

"I was."

He cocked an eyebrow, sensing the lie.

"Okay, trying to read," she amended testily. "Go back to sleep."

"I'm sorry about..."

"I know. We'll talk about it later."

"Lie down with me?"

"What?"

Owen flipped back the blankets. He swallowed audibly and nodded to the empty space.

Cristina leaned down to pick up the bottles, stalling for time. She had repeatedly considered crawling into bed with him over the last few hours. It had been a long night of her drifting in and out of the room. Unwilling to leave him for too long lest he wake up alone, but unsure what she should do in the wake of his breakdown.

"Cristina?"

Her name was softly spoken, not quite but almost a plea. She bit her lip and placed the bottles of water on the nightstand. The bed creaked loudly as she sat on the edge of the mattress and took off her shoes. His distress was palpable, existing as a creeping chill filling the space between them. She wondered how he had slept up until now. Slipping off her watch, Cristina pulled up her legs and turned to face him.

Wide blue eyes streaked with red met hers. Owen's jaw muscles rippled and his teeth clicked as he bit back whatever had come to mind.

"Lie down," she said.

"You don't have to…to touch me."

"Lie down," she repeated firmly.

Owen dropped his knee and eased down until his head rested in her lap. Cristina put her hand on his shoulder. The weight on her legs was inexplicably light as if he were holding himself aloft. She urged him to relax with gentle pressure. There was resistance and then a deep sigh as Owen draped his arm over her legs and cupped her thigh. The silence stretched out and she was just starting to wish she had picked up her book when he spoke.

"Earlier...I didn't know what would happen. I didn't expect...Mike and I are old friends. He meant a lot to me for a long time and seeing him again…like that…" His grip tightened and his voice lowered to a jagged whisper. "Seeing him brought back memories of things…of people I wish to Christ I could forget…"

The muscles beneath Cristina's hand were taut and trembling. She pushed up the short sleeve of his black t-shirt and gently stroked the skin, waiting.

"I keep thinking that just one more patient, one more success, will mitigate some of what's happened. It can't stay this bad…" Warm air bathed her leg as he huffed a sigh. "I can't sleep. I can't eat without wanting to throw up… I can't…"

He trailed off and the shaking increased. She rubbed his shoulder and covered the hand on her thigh with her own. His fingers interlaced with hers. Their knuckles cracked and she winced at the sound. Outside the traffic crawled by. The sound of the tires on the damp asphalt underscored his rapid breaths with a low shushing hiss. Cristina stared at the ceiling, silently willing him a calm she did not feel. Eventually the tight muscles smoothed out and his hand moved to cover hers.

Cristina reached to brush the damp hair back from his temple. "You need to talk to someone about this. You can't do it alone. You do see that, right?"

"Not easy," he murmured thickly.

"And what happened earlier, what's been happening, is easy?" Cristina countered with a trace of irritation. He did not reply, nor did he move. The emotional outburst in the parking garage had crumbled the last of his barriers to dust. She needed to press the advantage before he could regroup. The irony of this most basic tactic brought a wan smile to her lips. "You asked _me_ for another chance. I want to give it to you or I would have sent you home in a cab instead of leading you over here tonight. This is eating you alive. Go and talk to someone before you're no good to anyone, not even yourself."

"And why would you wait for me to figure it out?"

Cristina could feel the tension in every molecule of Owen's body. He expected her to run. Was certain that it was only a matter of time before he was left alone with the ghost of the person he had become. He would have been right not so very long ago, she mused. After Burke, after the sell out of her soul, Cristina Yang would have run screaming from the complexities of a man like Owen Hunt. Time brought clarity of purpose and definition of persona. She had stood up in front of a room full of her peers and taken credit for what was her due. There was success to be found after Burke. Success that was earned and not manipulated out of some misguided sense of loyalty or obligation. "And why wouldn't I?" she challenged. "Don't you think you're worth it?"

"Worth it?" He chuckled ruefully and kissed her leg. "I honestly don't know anymore."

"I do." Cristina ran her fingers through the short red hair, delighting in the warmth of him. Owen tightened his grip and a flush of pleasure spread through her chest. Someday she would tell him about Burke. Explain the reasons why she had thought to run and why she needed to stay for herself as much as for him. Someday soon, but not tonight.

~THE~END~


End file.
